


conflicted

by FancifulRivers



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Beauxbatons, Creature Harry Potter, Creature Inheritance, Gen, I can't write Fleur's accent so I didn't try, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Slightly crack!y
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-28 01:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15037478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancifulRivers/pseuds/FancifulRivers
Summary: Harry discovers something startling during the Triwizard Tournament.





	conflicted

"Can I talk to you?"

Harry looks up, startled to meet Fleur Delacour's anxious eyes. Her hands keep fluttering in front of her, the delicate movement of her fingers reminding him of a bird.

"Okay," he says awkwardly. Fleur sits next to him, filmy blue robes a puddle on the grass.

"You are...different," she says. He feels his face heat up, but he doesn't think this is the precursor to a declaration of love, and her next words confirm it. "Has the Headmaster... Have you talked? About...you?"

"Erm, I don't know?" Harry says. He scrunches up a handful of grass, though doesn't pluck it free. "I mean, about the Boy Who Lived stuff, and being in the tournament, and-"

"No." Fleur shakes her head, cutting off his babble. "You are...like me."

"Er-" Harry's brain short-circuits. "I'm pretty sure I'm not," he says cautiously. "Aren't you-"

"Part Veela?" Fleur looks at him, amused. "Oui. You are not part Veela. But you are part..." Her voice lowers and Harry leans closer to hear it. "Part creature." She finishes. Harry stares at her, wide-eyed.

"I don't think-" he starts, but Fleur flows up to her feet, imperiously pulling him up as well.

"We shall speak with Madame Maxime," she informs him. "She will tell you."

The Headmistress of Beauxbatons still resides in one of the massive carriages that carried the prospective competitors to Hogwarts and Fleur leads him to the foremost one, rapping on the door with her knuckles. It creaks open a moment later and the enormous figure of Olympe Maxime fills the entrance. Fleur curtsies, dragging Harry into an awkward bow.

"Mademoiselle Delacour," Madame Maxime says with a broad smile. "Come in, come in. You found him."

"Oui," Fleur says respectfully. "He does not understand."

"The blood of the elven realms flows within your veins, Harry Potter," Maxime tells him. His mouth sags open.  _What_?

"But- I mean- elves are  _real_?" He blurts out, and immediately feels very stupid.

"But of course!" Both Madame Maxime and Fleur look surprised by his question. "Do they not teach you this at Hogwarts?"

"Er- not in fourth year," he admits in an embarrassed mumble. "I uh- I've only been in Magical Creatures since last year, though, so-"

"It is a travesty," Olympe says, settling down on an enormous plush sofa embroidered in ice blue. "Sit down, sit down," she says, waving a ring-bedecked hand. Fleur tows him to the next sofa, and he clambers up, painfully aware that his feet don't touch the ground.

"You do not belong at Hogwarts," Fleur says in a very serious voice.

"Hey-" Harry begins hotly, but she keeps speaking.

"You belong at Beauxbatons," she says. "As one of the elves, you should be taking classes at Beauxbatons. I have no idea how your name-"

"It is down in the rolls at Beauxbatons," Olympe Maxime says. "But your Headmaster- this Dumbledore-" She pronounces his name like it means something bad. "He blocks it. He says you are the Boy Who Lived. You are needed in England. You Know Who- this Dark Lord- he is dead and gone. What of your education? It is clearly lacking."

Harry has no desire to explain his first year and the fact that You Know Who is emphatically  _not_ as dead and gone as the rest of the world apparently believes. Instead, his mind runs through Quirrellmort, Lockhart's pixies, Professor Binns' tedium, and how nasty Snape is on a regular basis to anyone who is not in his House. And how the Headmaster  _allows_ all of this.

"Erm-" He says.

"Do not worry, Harry," Fleur says, patting his hand. "Madame Maxime will take care of it."

"But all my friends are here," he finally manages to get out.

"Perhaps they can transfer," she says with a careless shrug. "It would be better for their education," she adds with a sniff.

"I don't  _look_ like an elf," Harry says.

"You did not know they existed until a moment ago," Fleur points out, eyebrows raised. "How would you know?"

"There is a spell placed upon you in any case," Olympe adds. "It is...interesting. I do not believe it belongs anymore."

"Can you remove it?" Harry asks. "Erm- what is it?" He thinks to add a moment later, but it is too late. The imposing Headmistress of Beauxbatons has already pointed her wand at him. There is a blinding flash and pain erupts through him, making him double over and nearly slide off the sofa. Fleur yanks him back, pressing him against the cushions.

"Oh, that is better," Fleur says, approval thick in her voice. 

"What is?" Harry asks, panting.

"Here." Fleur conjures a mirror, holding it in front of him. He gasps before he can stop himself.

There are not  _many_ changes, but they stand out all the more because of it. His hair is darker, darker even than Snape's, and its unruliness now seems like a wild thing in and of itself rather than the lack of a comb or brush. Similarly, his eyes are brighter. He's been slowly growing into whatever his body will turn out to be, but now his cheekbones are higher and more pointed. But the real change-

He brushes his hair back with trembling fingers. His ears are, without a doubt, pointed at the tips.

"Elven," Olympe pronounces. "Without a doubt. And now your Dumbledore cannot argue."

Harry opens his mouth, then closes it with a click.

He really doesn't know  _what_ to say. Although he kind of really wants Hermione and Ron to see him now.

"You will love France," Fleur reassures him.

"If I am- if I go to Beauxbatons-" Harry pauses, nibbling at his bottom lip. "Do you have to go home for summer hols?" He blurts out. Fleur and Madame Maxime exchange a significant look.

"Non, not if you do not wish to," Fleur says. "There are even certain summer courses that people may take."

"I'll go," Harry says immediately.

Anything that means he can get away from the Dursleys is good in his book.


End file.
